


This Boy

by mvernet



Series: The Blond Beatle Affair [8]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode Related, Episode The Neptune Affair, M/M, Missing Scene, Songfic, Spy Stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 08:09:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6186922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvernet/pseuds/mvernet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the successful conclusion of The Neptune Affair, Napoleon returns to U.N.C.L.E. New York to celebrate saving the world with Illya. Only to find his partner has yet to return from the Soviet Union.</p><p> </p><p>A songfic inspired by <i>This Boy</i> by The Beatles<br/>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O_vqE2hBWkg</p><p>George Harrison watching the above remastered video of <i>This Boy</i><br/>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7TeqyovfJzE</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Boy

This boy wants you back again  
~The Beatles~

Napoleon Solo loved to sail. There was nothing he liked better than an affair that allowed him to engage in this particular passion. He had spent the last mission on, in, under and around the sea. He had foiled a diabolical plan to start WWIII by causing a retaliatory missile strike from the Soviet Union towards the US. The evildoers planned on destroying the Russian wheat crop and pinning blame on the US. Napoleon ended the fiendish plot while Illya kept the Soviets at bay till he succeeded. Needless to say, the mission was successful. But now, when everything was calm and the crisis was over, Agent Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin was missing in action.

His Solnishko was missing.

Some would say that Napoleon walked the halls of U.N.C.L.E., the way a ship sailed the sea, cutting through blue water leaving a wake of sighs and fond glances. A tall, majestic ship with fully furled sails that no one could becalm.

But today he was like a ship faced with a sudden squall. His eyes black, his hair windswept. His broad shoulders held taut in defiance of the gale that was pushing him forward. No one who saw his stormy face got in his way as he headed for Mr. Waverly’s office.

“Tell him I want to see him,” he commanded.

Lisa Rogers was fully equipped for any foul weather. She and her boss had been expecting this storm.

“Go right in. He’s expecting you,” she reacted to Napoleon’s black mood with an understanding smile. 

Mr. Waverly was at his communications center, having an intense conversation on a red phone.

“Yes. Leonid Illyich Brezhnev. Yes, I agree this crisis was a solid test of your future plans of detente with the West. Well handled by you and the committee Agent Kuryakyn worked with. Yes, I agree a delightfully intelligent young man. And your namesake. Yes, yes. Certainly you may work with him in the future.”

Waverly glanced at Napoleon who was sitting on the edge of the round table, arms crossed and face tempestuous. Waverly sent an exasperated look Napoleon’s way.

Napoleon could wait no longer. “Where is Illya?” he asked _sotto voce._ Waverly held up a dismissive hand.

“But General Secretary, I have not heard from Agent Kuryakin since the crisis was so amicably resolved. He has missed several mandatory check ins. He did not get on the plane… I do run an Intelligence agency, General. I certainly have the means of keeping track of my own men!”

Waverly noticed Napoleon was now leaning on the globe as if glaring at Moscow would somehow make his partner appear.

“Yes, of course, I believe you! I’m sure you provided the best in transportation and the best available drivers.”

Napoleon switched to pacing, his hands in tight fists.

“Ask him about Marinesko.”

Waverly covered the receiver of the phone with his hand.

“Mr. Solo! Sit down and keep still!”

He cleared his throat and continued his conversation.

“Excuse me, General Brezhnev. Agents can be just like children sometimes. Yes...yes.”

Napoleon threw himself into a chair and scowled at the phone and his boss.

“Ahhh, General. Agent Kuryakin used to be under the command of Admiral Marinesko when he was in the navy. Was the Admiral by any chance… he was… yesterday… insisted on handling Agent Kuryakin’s transportation to the airport? Yes… of course… old comrades. Yes… ahhhh. Thank you, Leonid Illyich. I wish you great success in your new position. Good bye.”

Napoleon jumped to his feet and almost made a grab for the phone.

“Good bye? Good bye? Marinesko has Illya. You know it! Why didn’t you get Brez…”

“Mr. Solo! You have forgotten yourself! Do not take that tone with me!”

“But it’s Illya…”

“I am aware of whom we are speaking, Mr. Solo! I am also aware you are acting like a boy in a schoolyard row!”

“Well that boy, has our boy and this boy wants him back again!” 

That boy took my love away  
Though he'll regret it someday  
But this boy wants you back again

“Mr. Solo. Sit down! If I have to tell you again I will have you taken to medical and sedated.”

Napoleon sat, but couldn’t keep from mumbling under his breath, ”Like to see you try old man.”

Waverly sighed. He decided to ignore Napoleon’s insubordination. He knew what he was feeling since he had once felt it himself.

“Napoleon,” He softened his tone for a different tack. “Marinesko is not favored under Brezhnev’s new regime. He is the scum of the earth in my opinion, but not a stupid man. I don’t believe he would murder an U.N.C.L.E. agent.”

“We are not stupid either, we are tracking Illya. We know at least where he is. Mr. Tubman has been tracking him throughout the crisis and has been in nearly constant contact with him on the new pen communicator. I myself spoke to him by phone two days ago in Brezhnev’s office. Illya was in good spirits. I noticed no signs of duress.”

“It was very close, Napoleon, but Illya turned the tide. There was a vocal minority that wanted to blast us out of existence. I believe Illya’s calming presence defused an explosive situation. I am proud of both of you.”

This time it was Napoleon who sighed. He rubbed at his tired eyes like a young boy willing himself to stay up past his bedtime.

“No, Marinesko won’t kill Illya,” he conceded. “He’ll try to talk him into staying with him. That is why he offered him a captaincy. Sir, when Illya confronts him…”

That boy isn't good for you  
Though he may want you too  
This boy wants you back again  
Oh, and this boy would be happy  
Just to love you, but oh my  
That boy won't be happy  
Till he's seen you cry

Waverly interrupted Napoleon’s anguished thoughts.

“Hopefully, you will be in Moscow before he has to turn him down. Illya knows to play along to protect himself. If he can hold him off for a few days, give him some empty promises, then perhaps...”

Napoleon and his boss exchanged meaningful looks, both knowing Illya was unlikely to take a path that would keep him safe.

“Go see Mr. Tubman, Your flight to Moscow leaves tonight at eight.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Napoleon. I… I must know before you go, although it is presumptuous of me to ask. Have you and Ilya entered into a… sexual relationship?”

Somehow, Napoleon was not surprised at the question.

“Yes and no, sir. We love each other. We just discovered it ourselves. We’re, ahhh, still working out the details. One of the details Illya insisted on was telling you before we became lovers.”

Waverly stood and crossed the room to pick up his pipe and opened his humidor. Napoleon waited for a reaction.

“Napoleon. As you know it is my fervent wish for you to be my successor as number one, section one. I am happy you will have such a man by your side. You will have many trials. Many small minds will covet your position and scheme for your downfall.”

Waverly finished tamping down the tobacco in his pipe and lit it. He took one long drag, absently blowing a smoke ring. Napoleon watched the wisp of smoke dissipate.

“I think of Illya as my own son. I’m glad he’s found such a love. He will be your most precious asset on this job. He will keep you sane. I envy you.”

“Sir...I…”

“Go. Bring our boy back.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

~~~O~~~  
Napoleon was surprised to see Sam Tubman waiting in the hall between Waverly’s office and the elevators.

“Solo. I need you to come to my lab. Now.” Sam’s voice was gruff. He looked exhausted.

“I was on my way.” They both entered a waiting elevator. Sam hit the LL button and turned to Napoleon with weary eyes.

“Wavery tell you? That prick Marinesko’s got our boy.”

Napoleon almost smiled at the Sam’s choice of words. Illya would be aghast at his co-workers calling him a _boy._ The smile died on his lips.

“Yes. I’m leaving for Moscow tonight.”

“He’s not there. He’s close, but not in the city.”

The elevator door opened and they exited. Napoleon grabbed Sam's arm and stopped his forward movement.

“How do you know that and Waverly doesn’t?” 

Sam looked at the hand on his arm and then down at the floor. “Illya was outfitted with a standard homing device hidden in his uniform jacket. As you know, in Illya’s opinion and mine, they are a bit too large. Too easy to find in a thorough search.”

Napoleon tilted his head. “What did Illya do?”

Sam broke free of Napoleon’s grasp with a not too gentle shake. “Come to the lab, Solo, I’ll show you.”

They entered the lab and Napoleon saw what was possibly the tiniest radar screen he had ever seen. He looked closer. The screen showed a set of coordinates that Napoleon recognized as being near Moscow. A blinking black dot was moving slowly across an off-white screen. Coordinates flashed across the bottom, changing as the dot moved from one sector to the next. Napoleon stood and looked at Sam with wide, brown eyes.

“Is that?”

“Illya, yes. I believe his communicator as well as his homing device has been destroyed. I’ve gotten no signal of any kind since yesterday. If the communicator is off it still emits a signal. That signal can also be used to zero in on a downed agent if you are within range. Illya’s is completely dead.” Sam swallowed as he watched Napoleon wince.

“So what am I watching?”

“Another of Illya’s inventions. Illya called it a GPM, Geographical Positioning Monitor. He triangulated a signal to hit the Russian Sputnik satellite and then the device on Illya’s person, enabling this monitor to tell you where he is.”

“This is amazing!”

“Illya is a genius, yet once again he’s in harm’s way and here you are safe and cozy, you bastard.”

Napoleon ignored his outburst. The way his emotions were churning, he almost welcomed it, in fact. He needed his cooperation.

“What aren’t you telling me? Waverly would never object to a trial run of this!”

“It was Illya’s idea.”

“Tell me!”

“He put the device in an earring. He made me pierce one of his ears. He asked me not to tell Waverly. I know it’s silly, but I promised.”

“An earring?”

“A small diamond stud. Mostly hidden by his hair. Made him look like a gypsy,” Sam said fondly.

Despite Napoleon’s growing concern for Illya. The blinking black dot raised his spirits. The thought of Illya with an earring did strange things to his libido.

“Show me how to work this thing, Sam.”

~~~o~~~

Napoleon sailed back through the halls of U.N.C.L.E. His black trench coat filled with Illya’s latest prototypes was flung over his shoulder. It fluttered behind him in his haste to embark on his journey to bring back his boy, his love, his Solnishko. His sun was gone. He was sailing courageously into a night that only promised pain. 

This boy wouldn't mind the pain  
Would always feel the same  
If this boy gets you back again

~~~O~~~

TBC  
Oh! What will become of poor Illya and his earring? Stay tuned to find out!


End file.
